Turning Points
by lilylovestoerag
Summary: One-shot. The reasons for Lily and Petunia's strained relationship, and why Lily might not be blameless after all. Includes Petunia's POV of the night of Lily's death.


April 1972  
West Sussex

Lily arrived home from the train the day before, Good Friday, content to be back in the West Country for Easter. While her first year at Hogwarts was shaping up to be a great one (12 years old, acing her exams, _and_ finally writing more than chicken scratch with quills), spring in Scotland lacked the bursting colour she'd come to expect from her favourite season. That morning, Lily's parents had squeezed her, Petunia, and two comically large suitcases into the back of the family Fiat and set off for her grandparents' West Sussex farm. Upon arrival, after the mandatory hugs and joyful, lingering cheek kisses, Lily and Petunia were handed a yellow raincoat and a pair of wellies each and sent back outside to _play_. Petunia, 13, resented being left out of adult conversations, having felt that her recent commitment to hair curlers and scanning headlines of the_ Mail_ every morning should have earned her major maturity points. Lily, however, was happy to muck about the farm, taking care to stomp (in a running jump) in every puddle on the long, gravel lane, spraying her and her sister's calves with cool rainwater collected in potholes.

The sky poured on and off, releasing sweet scents of mud and new grass, and the two girls wandered down the narrow lane of their grandparents' property, one walking on a stone wall like a balance beam and the other planted firmly on the ground.

"You'll break your neck, you know," said Petunia, walking with her arms crossed.

Lily wrinkled her nose, then, making sure her big sister was watching, cart wheeled skillfully across the wall.

"_Okay_, show me some magic then. If you can really do it at all," challenged Petunia.

Lily crouched down and jumped from the stone wall confidently. She plucked off the bud of a flower, still tightly shut, and closed both of her pale hands over it. When she exposed her palm, the flower bud was (disappointingly) as it'd been before, unready to bloom for anyone. Petunia grinned, and Lily wrinkled her brow in frustration.

"Maybe you're not a freak anymore," said Petunia. "Then you'd have to stay home and go to _my_ school, wouldn't you?"

Lily kept the pink bud in her exposed palm, staring at it with fierce determination. Petunia was watching her with equal concentration, when the petals unfurled slowly into the playful bloom of a Snapdragon. She held it close to Petunia's face, and the flower nipped softly at the edge of her older sister's nose.

"See?" said Lily.

Petunia crossed her arms tightly over her stomach and sprinted back to the farmhouse, becoming a blur of vibrant yellow.

* * *

Christmas 1974  
Cokeworth

Lily spent her entire last visit to Hogsmeade searching for the perfect gift. She was going to make the last few years up to Tuney, and if that had meant wandering in and out of shops, alone, in a blizzard, so bloody be it. She'd barely had time to meet her friends for a warm Butterbeer, and by the hour she'd stumbled into The Three Broomsticks (pushed through the door, really, in a gust of winter wind), students had already begun the long walk back to the castle. It hadn't been for nothing. Lily's persistence and Evans-honed haggling skills had netted her the gift she _knew_ her older sister would love, wrapped with only a simple silver bow on top.

An Evans' Christmas was never a decadent affair (Lily had never claimed to be posh, by wizard or Muggle standards), but her mother's home cooking would've made Queen Liz jealous. Among the buffet-style spread was a sky high pile of mash and thick gravy, a turkey with gingerbread stuffing, a jiggling dish of cranberry sauce, and Christmas Pud for later. She barely made it through mid-day dinner without popping the button on her jeans, and in the family tradition of an evening gift exchange (her father often worked Christmas Day shifts as a police constable), Lily couldn't wait to hand Petunia what she'd bought in Hogsmeade. She'd kept the crate on the other side of her bed, hidden from view to anyone who walked in. Lily had sneaked upstairs several times to feed and pet the thing, then let it paw around her bedroom, getting a feel for it's new home.

The family sat around the living room, Lily and Petunia both cross-legged on the floor near the well-tended fire. When it was time for Lily to retrieve the crate, she covered Tuney's eyes with a scarf and almost fell down the stairs with excitement bringing it downstairs for the big reveal. Petunia giggled excitedly, as the _other_ family tradition dictated that the eldest daughter received her presents first (Petunia had made this rule herself). Lily carefully set down the carrier.

"You can look!" said Lily.

Petunia ripped the scarf off of her head and stared at the pair of yellow, glowing eyes looking back from the pet crate. She unlatched the caged opening... and out jumped a large long-haired cat with a face that looked smacked in by a pan. The cat made itself comfortable in Petunia's lap and nuzzled his head against her hand, looking for a generous ear scratch. Lily was nervously waiting for Tuney's reaction to the whole thing, but could never have guessed what came next.

"_ACHOO!_" sneezed Petunia. _Oh no_.

"How- _CHOO_- could- _CHOO_- you forget that I'm- _CHOO_- allergic- _CHOO_- to cats!" yelled Petunia, pushing the cat from her lap.

Lily had honestly never known of her sister's allergy. It was a moment of mental glass shattering, when she looked back on their childhood and realised that every time a neighbour's cat had crossed their path, Petunia had quickly walked the other way. When their friend Samantha's tabby had had kittens, Petunia had opted out of joining Lily to play with them. She didn't see it until now, and she'd never thought to ask.

"Are you trying to- _ACHOO_- kill me?!" said Petunia.

Lily's mum looked equally livid, while her father gave her a quick sympathetic smile, knowing she'd not meant her sister harm.

While Petunia stormed off to the kitchen to get away from the source of her sneezing, Lily mentally made plans to take the cat back to Hogwarts, remembering the no returns policy of the shop. Bear, the cat, licked his paw innocently.

* * *

31 August 1976  
Cokeworth

It was the hottest August on record in Southern England. At 16, Lily had grown taller by two inches over the last school year, and was preparing for the next one with an open suitcase on her bed. Like usual, she'd left her packing until the afternoon before the train, but had polished her new Gryffindor prefect badge each night that week, keeping it out on her bedside chest. Lily stood in the harsh glow of afternoon sun and looked at the dark green foliage from her window - the end of summer. At promptly 11 o'clock the next morning, she'd be back where she belonged, at Hogwarts. After her father's death a month and a half before (killed responding to a robbery, on duty), she'd spent little time with Petunia or her mother, preferring to leave the house to grieve on her own. Lily was ready to focus on schoolwork again. Being home with those two was suffocating.

She'd been folding tops for her luggage, when her older sister knocked on the door and opened it without waiting.

"It's the first of September already, is it?" said Petunia, calmly, looking at Lily's prefect badge.

Lily nodded without eye contact, still folding.

"Not that you've been here much anyway," added Petunia.

"I've been working on essays due the first day back. All of them were several feet of parchment," said Lily.

"Don't try to confuse me by talking like _your lot_. You haven't touched your school trunk since after the funeral," said Petunia.

Lily didn't know what to say. Her sister was right, but she hadn't known Petunia paid that close attention to her goings on. It felt cruel to lie, but she was too emotionally exhausted to change her story now.

"You don't know what you're talking about. Can you leave, please?" snapped Lily.

"Not a problem, freak," said Petunia, out of the bedroom in record speed. "See you at Christmas, if anyone still wants you here."

Lily waited until she heard the shuffle of steps down the stairs, then grabbed her suitcase by its sides and swung it into the wall, infuriated. She couldn't wait for the sun to set, and to get the hell out of there.

* * *

December 1977  
London

Lily unzipped her date's coat slightly to straighten James' tie, wanting things to be just so for the first time he met Petunia and _Vernon_. Petunia had moved to London for work six months prior, meeting the rotund, blond, and arrogant Vernon Dursley at the drilling company she did administrative work for. Lily and James were in their last year of Hogwarts, and having started dating early in autumn, Lily wanted to come as a pair to endure the awkward dinner. She'd met Vernon just once before when he visited Cokeworth with Petunia at the end of summer. She was trying not to let his (soon to be) presence spoil a beautiful night in London, the city being dusted with snow and lit up by strings of white fairy lights hung over the pavement for Christmas.

They were to meet Petunia and Vernon at an outrageously expensive restaurant in Chelsea (Vernon's choice, of course). James was amused by the whole thing, and on their walk there had waved his wand and given himself a large blond moustache that grew larger by the minute, him shouting random words, like, "Business! Numbers! Profit margin!" Lily was laughing so hard that she'd almost missed the address, a grand-looking white stucco building identical to the other shops on the street.

Lily and James were (surprisingly) early, as Petunia and Vernon hadn't arrived yet, ten minutes prior to the arranged time. Lily thought that the less time James had to fiddle with cutlery and jiggle his leg impatiently, the better, and suggested they wait in a quiet corner near the cloakroom. When the hostess had left them, James peered behind him to ensure they were alone. He put his hand on Lily's face to kiss her. It was still early days in their relationship, and they had trouble behaving themselves in most places.

"So, how big _is_ Vernon's moustache? Does it hold a candle to the waxed tips on Old Selwyn at The Three Broomsticks?" said James.

"They're both awful. Merlin, this is going to be hell tonight," said Lily.

James kissed her, drawing her in by her back with his hands.

"We_ could_ disapparate..." said James, "or we could stay, because I promised Sirius I'd bring back stories of everything that happens at dinner."

"You can start with, 'My girlfriend's sister is dating a complete knobhead,'" said Lily.

"Engaged to him, actually," said Petunia from behind them, her new diamond ring visible even while crossing her arms.

Lily hadn't heard her older sister walk up behind them.

"Tuney, I..." said Lily, practically speechless.

Petunia put up her hand to stop Lily from speaking, her blue eyes shooting daggers.

"Vernon's already at the table, so let's get this dinner over with, and then I'll never subject you to this kind of _hell_ again," said Petunia, cold and succinct.

Lily and James followed Petunia silently into the restaurant's dining room, neither of them feeling very much like laughing anymore.

* * *

31 October 1981  
Little Whinging, Surrey

Petunia was up to her ears in mashed banana, her nearly two-year-old _Duddums_ having thrown his bowl from his feeding chair, again. It was close to 11 o'clock, and the baby refused to sleep, wailing in a tantrum like usual for food late in the evening. Her adoring husband, Vernon, was asleep in his living room chair, blanketed in an open newspaper he'd closed his eyes while reading. A stern-faced newsreader flashed on and off the television screen, his screen time cut in with footage of gunfire from a country Petunia gave little thought to.

After Dudley had finished eating and she'd brought the kitchen to a spotless clean, Petunia carried the tired boy in circles around his nursery, finally laying him down in his pristine white cot. Nothing he did, including scream for hours without pause, could change her affections for him. She gazed upon the cot, watching him wiggle on his back until comfortable, and stroked a finger over his soft, pale forehead when she was certain her son was asleep. Petunia never wanted anything to come between the bond of their family of three. This was her life, _her_ world, and she felt in total control of it. She thrived in 'normal,' which is why Petunia Dursley's expression changed from serene to irate when the doorbell rang at 11 o'clock at night.

She practically ran downstairs to confront whichever person had the nerve to ring _her_ doorbell to _her_ home at such a _ridiculous_ hour. The thought of checking on Vernon escaped her in anger, though if she had looked, she'd have found him asleep in exactly the same slumped over position.

Petunia turned the bolts on three separate front door locks, then pulled it open hastily towards her, ready to lecture at a loud volume. Every muscle froze in place at the sight of who was standing before her. A tall, bearded man with half-moon spectacles and outrageous purple robes smiled politely on the step. Unsure of what to do, Petunia slammed the door shut in his face, turning the locks to keep him OUT - their lot out of her home, and _out of her life_. The strangely-dressed man knocked quietly several times, and Petunia heard him speak through the door.

"I'm afraid this is rather urgent news I have to share with you," said the man, muffled by wood.

"Go away! I'm _normal_, I have nothing to do with you people!" begged Petunia.

Vernon had come rushing to the entrance, holding a still-full flower vase in an attempt to protect his 22-year-old wife. He pounded a strong fist at the door, yelling at the intruder.

"You leave us alone, or I'm calling the police!" said Vernon, his face red as a baboon's bottom.

"Petunia," said the man, very composed, "it's about your sister."

Something in his tone had created a lump in her throat. She put one hand on Vernon's shoulder and nodded, while gently moving her husband from the door. Petunia slowly turned the three locks back, then saw the man in the purple robes once again. She pointed the man towards the living room and closed the door once he was inside, though not before craning her neck up and down the street to scan for awake neighbours. She prayed no one had seen him.

"I'm Albus Dumbledore, a friend of your sister, Lily's," said the man.

"No friend of ours, then. What's she gone and done now?" said Vernon.

Albus Dumbledore spoke directly to Petunia, as if he'd not even registered that Vernon had said something.

"Lily and her husband, James, were murdered tonight," said Dumbledore, tears in his eyes.

Petunia stood there, stone-faced, aware she was being stared at by both her husband and the man in purple robes. She dug a fingernail into the skin of her thumb.

"She was _murdered_?" said Vernon.

Petunia spoke quietly.

"What about the boy?" she said, looking at Dumbledore.

He shook his head with a slight smile. Petunia wondered, randomly, what had become of the cat.

"Survived, with only a peculiar cut on his forehead. You're aware that you're his last remaining family?" said Dumbledore.

"What about Potter's family? Doesn't he have parents? Aunts or uncles?" said Petunia.

"It's just you, I'm afraid," said Dumbledore.

An instant later, everyone in the Dursley's living room snapped their heads towards the entrance of the house, startled by the front door practically swinging off its hinges, and the _largest_ man Petunia had ever seen walking into her home.

"Ye mus' be Lily's sister," said the giant, sobbing.

Petunia was afraid, but not enough to not notice the blanket-wrapped baby cradled in his arms.

"Is that the boy?" asked Petunia.

Dumbledore nodded, and took the sleeping dark haired baby into his own arms.

"Harry will be under your _care_ now. Would you like to hold your nephew?" said Dumbledore.

Petunia raised a hand in objection, and left the room without a word, climbing the stairs two at a time. She walked directly to the home's spare bedroom, cracking the door open with an echo and locking it behind her. To her relief, no one had come after her.

She flipped on the overheard light and knelt in front of a large chest of drawers. Petunia pulled open the stiff bottom drawer, housing piles of neatly folded newborn clothes her son had long outgrown. She reached a hand under one of the piles, and removed it holding a framed photograph she'd hidden years before. It was Lily and Petunia, aged 9 and 10, before anyone had taken away and hurt her sister. _What did these people do to her baby sister?_

For the first time that night, Petunia put her hands on her face and sobbed.


End file.
